The Right Hello
by oleanderedits
Summary: It's really hard to know who your soulmate's supposed to be when the first thing they say to you is 'hi.' Long, long before the time the old world had died away and the new was a good two years into figuring it's shit out, he'd given up on ever finding the right 'hi'.


Rick had fallen silent after annoying Daryl by swerving the car a couple times so the prick landed against his shoulder in an attempt to get his attention. Make him pay attention. Make him listen. It was all stuff Daryl didn't want to hear. About how they should be looking for people still and should keep doing what they'd been doing and that Daryl had been right when he'd told Rick that months ago.

Daryl didn't believe it anymore. After the asshole Dwight went off and stole his bike and bow with his wife… After Daryl had gone out of his way to help them and even invited them to come back to Alexandria with him… He'd done what he was supposed to. He'd tried to make the right call. He'd tried to believe in what Aaron had told him. That he knew good people from bad people. But he'd screwed up. He didn't trust himself to make those decisions. Not alone.

The only reason the prick laying unconscious opposite him in the back seat wasn't strung up a tree right then and there was Rick deciding to bring him back. Above and beyond anything else in the world, Daryl trusted Rick. Not his judgement, sometimes. But him . And when he was doing good mentally, when he wasn't pushed to the point of paranoia the way he sometimes was, he had a good head on his shoulders. Daryl trusted that.

When they got back home, they had to drag him over to Denise's and wake her up. Daryl had to be reminded that the prick had cost him the can of Orange Crush Denise had asked for. Had to apologize to her, tell her 'that thing didn't work out' and see the disappointment on her face as he and Rick dragged the heavy asshole over to the exam table to be looked over. Denise tried to hide the sigh and sad puppy look behind a well-timed adjustment of her glasses and a deep breath. But Daryl saw it. It was really rare they ran across special requests like that and the guy in his arms had cost his friend that treat. Both of them, even if Tara wasn't aware of it.

Denise moved to the head of the table and felt around the prick's neck and checked for lumps or cuts under his hair after they explained he'd been beaned by the door of a runaway truck. She had to adjust her glasses a couple more times and didn't bother trying to remove his hat as she poked at him. She was tired and it showed. "Doesn't seem to be any damage. How long's he been out?"

"Couple hours now," Daryl answered, arms crossing over his chest and fingers gripping at the armholes of his vest.

"No sign of him waking? At all?"

Rick shook his head, frowning, "That a problem?"

"It could be. Usually head trauma that has a person out for that long is the kind that needs a hospital. But I'm not feeling any lumps or finding cuts. It might be a mild concussion?" Her voice went high at the end, turning the statement into a question.

They all knew she was still learning how to do the whole doctor thing. None of them were going to fault her for not being entirely sure.

Daryl shrugged, trying to sound as uncaring as possible, "So?"

"So I'm not sure if he should be asleep or if we should try to wake him up," she sighed before frowning and leaning in to push the collar of his shirt down and twist her head curiously. Then she let out a dry laugh, and said rather deadpan, "Wow. This guy's soulmate sounds like a real winner."

A moment later she was pushing the cloth back into place, hands trying to figure out where they should go, be it her hips or crossing over her chest or rubbing at her own neck, "Sorry. Didn't meant to get off topic. I guess just watch him until he wakes up or until he… dies. It'll be one of the two."

Rick moved in to grab his feet again and Daryl had to uncross his arms to lift him up and get under his shoulders once more. As they were moving him around, he looked over at Denise, curious what kind of first meeting would get that reaction out of her, "What his tattoo say?"

She flapped a hand in a dismissive wave while they moved him out the door and went to hold onto it so she could shut it behind them, " 'Back off. Now.' Guessing he might have a habit of pissing people off."

Rick snorted in amusement and Daryl grunted with annoyance as they moved the prick to what passed for their holding cell. When he was inside and on the thin mattress, Rick patted Daryl on the stomach and told him to wait while he got a few things. Daryl went to lean against the doorframe as Rick walked out. Once Rick was gone, though, Daryl found himself moving in to kneel next to the man.

"Back off. Now."

The words stuck in Daryl's head and he couldn't figure out why. Bad enough he wanted to see for himself that stupid tattoo that appeared along everyone's collarbone with the first words their soulmate would say to them. His own was just a simple, single "hi". So common and so mundane he'd given up on ever finding the person who'd utter the stupid word and supposedly bring light to his life. If the woman… or man… whoever it was, wasn't dead already, Daryl would be surprised. He knew the words marked into most of his family's chests. They'd all seen glimpses of them and most of them were as mundane as his own 'hi'.

Well, with the exception of Glenn and Maggie. The constant reminder of Lori inked into Glenn's collarbone just went to show how crazy the world could be sometimes.

But Daryl had never been special like them. He'd given up on finding his soulmate a long time ago. Long before the world that was fell to pieces and the new one struggled to figure itself out.

His hand ghosted along the edge of the man's shirt and he found himself holding his breath, almost afraid to wake him up. Daryl forced his breathing to even out before he hooked his fingers under the cloth and tugged it down just far enough to see the words.

Back off! Now!

Plain as day. Almost like it was meant to be yelled at him.

Daryl drew his hand away and leaned back on his heels, eyes moving from the tattoo up to the peaceful face. He really did look like he was sleeping and there weren't anything wrong with him. Relaxed. Pretty, even.

His fingers seemed to move of their own accord, reaching out to sweep some of that straw-colored hair out of the prick's face so it didn't tickle him when he breathed in and out. Daryl didn't even realize he was doing it until the thought that the man's hair was really soft passed through his head. His fingers brushing the locks that suck out under his hat in an idle motion.

His breath hitched and he pulled his hand back like he'd been burned. He was supposed to be watching the asshole, not playing with his hair. Daryl jerked himself up, to get himself standing, and started to pace the length of the room, suddenly too keyed up to relax against the doorframe.

Rick found him like that, gave him a questioning look that Daryl dismissed with shake of his head and a muttered, "Tired."

That seemed to satisfy his friend and he handed over a glass of water and a cookie, "Put these down for him to have when he wakes up. I gotta write a note real quick."

Daryl did as asked, taking a deep breath and forcing himself to kneel next to the man for a few seconds that felt like hours with how his chest was tightening up. He didn't understand his reaction at all. It wasn't like he hadn't met pretty boys before. Plenty of pretty men out there. Plenty of them with hair that was probably just as soft as a down pillow and as golden brown as perfectly baked biscuits pulled fresh from the oven. And plenty with eyes that moved from blue to green like the shallows of a clear river sparking under a bright sun with not a cloud in sight to distort the view.

Rick cleared his throat and Daryl whipped his head around to see that he was holding up the note he'd been writing. His friend once again gave him a quiet, questioning look. To which Daryl brought both hands up to rub at his face as he stood. A little exaggerated how tired he was, but then again, with the direction his thoughts had taken, maybe not as exaggerated as it should be.

After the note was set down, Rick came over and put a hand lightly on Daryl's upper arm, "I can take first watch. Go tell Eugene to come by in four hours if he ain't gotten word that our guest's awake."

"Nah, I got it," Daryl shook his head insistently. "You go home. Judith and Carl are probably waiting. I can last a couple hours. Send Eugene by then and I'll head to the house after."

"You sure?" Rick asked, clearly worried and Daryl had to roll his eyes and give his friend a deadpan stare.

"I'm fine."

A smile bloomed on Rick's lips and he lifted his hands in surrender, "Okay. Two hours. No more than that."

"Two hours," Daryl agreed and opened the door for Rick to pass before shutting it behind him and then heading back the two feet to the doorway of the 'cell'.

This time he forced himself to lean against it and pay attention to how the man was sleeping. Any changes to his breathing pattern. Any shift in his body. The absence of breath for the worst case scenario.

The thought of that passed through his head and following it came a sudden panic. One he didn't understand the source of. It wasn't like the asshole would be the first person to die in this world if it happened. It wasn't like his death would matter.

Still, Daryl found himself muttering with mixed anger and worry, "Better fucking wake up."

"Mmm… two hours, he said?" came the unexpected reply, sounding like cat stretching itself lazily in the sun.

Daryl straightened up, alert as the man rolled his shoulders and opened his eyes to look over at him.

He smiled and it was like he was looking straight into Daryl's soul. "Hi."

"Hi," the stranger said, out of breath as his hands went up in response to the two guns pointed at him.

Daryl didn't give him any time to say more as he shouted, "Back off! Now!"

It was like his heart stopped in that moment and everything froze. The events of the day, of Paul running into Rick and then backing off with his hands up as Daryl pulled his gun, replayed over and over. Paul saying 'hi' just as he had then, staring at him with eyes wide and curious. Fascinated almost.

"Back off," Daryl murmured, with no malice. No ill intent. One hand drifted up to hover protectively over his own tattoo. The small 'hi' that he'd never expected to hear. "Now."

Paul's smile widened and he sat up. At some point in the few seconds that had separated their words he'd managed to get the bindings off his wrists and he was pushing off the ground to stand up. Moving his feet to walk toward Daryl. Get into his personal space.

"Hi," he said again, one hand moving to push Daryl's away from his chest so he could take the cloth of his shirt and pull it down. His fingers traced lightly over the simple little word and Daryl felt like electricity was moving through him, setting every nerve on fire.

"Back off. Now," Daryl repeated, like a prayer for forgiveness. Begging whatever higher power was left, or even the universe itself, not to do this to him. Not to give this to him. He'd lived so long without it. He'd accepted that he wouldn't ever get it. It was almost torture to have Paul standing so close they could touch and know he could lose the gift he was being given at any time now.

Paul's hand moved up from the tattoo to his neck and then to his cheek and Daryl's eyes slipped shut of their own accord. He leaned his cheek into the touch, turning his head just enough to press his lips against the palm offered him. His hands having already made their own way to Paul's coat, fisting into the leather and pulling him closer.

"You're shaking."

Paul's voice just barely broke through the mental haze that was settling and Daryl responded with a stubborn "Am not." out of habit.

It got him a laugh and it had to be one of the most beautiful sounds he'd ever heard.

"Okay," Paul agreed, not arguing as his forehead pressed into Daryl's. "Maybe I am."

"Yeah, maybe you are," Daryl muttered, only getting about half the words out before Paul's lips found his and erased any concrete thoughts from his head.

When Eugene found them two hours later, he made a very odd sound - kind of like what Daryl would imagine a fish choking on a bone might sound like - before immediately turning to leave with an awkward, "I shall inform Rick our guest is awake. You may wish to get dressed before I return."


End file.
